“This happens to you often?”
Kirby nodded. Then shook her head. All contradictions. Her hands trembled as she reached for Mara’s waist. They weren’t cramped anymore. “More often recently.”
“Match my breathing, Bonham.”
“I liked it when you called me Kirby.”
“Okay, Kirby.”
Tears welled in Kirby’s eyes, and Mara felt like she might come apart herself.
“I’m sorry,” Kirby said again.
Mara pressed closer until Kirby would be able to feel the up and down of Mara’s chest against her own body. Feel her breaths. The slow in and out.
“That’s it.” Another long slow sweep of her thumb over Kirby’s lips. Then she raked her fingernails through Kirby’s hair.
They breathed together for several minutes. Kirby relaxed in increments until she was a puddle against Mara.
Mara had never had a panic attack, but she knew they could wipe a person out, so she held Kirby up.
Kirby put forward such a vibrant, carefree image to the world, and she was tough. To come up in the ski world without familial support—monetary or otherwise. To compete at such a high level. To support herself through whatever means necessary and set herself up for the future. Mara might not have agreed with Kirby’s career decisions, but there was no denying she was a hustler. Kirby possessed an incredible degree of mental and physical fortitude.
And if occasionally it all got to be too much for her, well that was understandable.
Kirby’s arms snaked around Mara’s waist, holding tighter than before when they had seemed rather limp.
“So the kissing is off the table, then?” Kirby asked after a few minutes. She sounded more normal. Less shaky.
“I’m not going to take advantage of you,” Mara said, a bit of tease in her voice, but the world was coming back into focus. She had been so zeroed in on Kirby before. But now she was very aware that they were in a public bathroom in the Olympic Village.
“Mmm, no, please take advantage of me.” Kirby’s lips skimmed along Mara’s jaw, and heat spread through Mara’s body lightning fast.
“Hey,” Mara whispered. “You don’t have to?—”
“I know I don’t have to. Jesus.” Kirby ripped herself away. She brushed her hair out of her face, frustration in every movement. She was still slightly unsteady, but her voice was strong.
“Don’t do that.” Anger rose in Mara, right along with desire. Was it always going to be that way with Kirby? Rage and longing in one shot.
“Do what?”
“Get mad at me for no reason.”
“I don’t do that,” Kirby said.
“Yes, you do. And I do too. And it’s ridiculous. The Olympics are in?—”
“Stop lecturing me. I know when the Olympics start. I know I need to lock in, okay? What do you think I’ve been doing? You’re not the only one in the world who cares, Mara May.”
Mara was done. She grabbed a fistful of Kirby’s shirt and pulled her forward.
“Fuck you,” Mara whispered. Their lips didn’t touch, but they were so, so close. She could feel Kirby’s exhalations and smell whatever citrus-scented hair product she had in her waves.
“Don’t talk dirty to me unless you want me to do something about it,” Kirby said. A smile tipped her lips, and Mara found herself smiling too.
Kirby’s gaze scanned over Mara’s face. Usually, Mara would have hidden. Shuttered her emotions. Closed her eyes. She would have done whatever she needed to do to separate herself from that moment.
Compartmentalize.
